Ghost Writer
by Houddy
Summary: House takes the case of reclusive author Renata Rollins, but things are not as they seem, and he finds himself knee deep in a mystery befitting one of her horror novels.Only House, Wilson and Cuddy appear in this story. as well as my OCs
1. The House at Gravesend

THE HOUSE AT GRAVESEND 

Wilson slowly pulled up the gravel drive. "You don't do house calls," he informed his friend, who had finally put down his DS and stared up at the ominous house.

"I do when the house in question belongs to the one and only Renata Rollins." House was practically giddy, which was a big deal for him.

"Who?" The name was lost on Wilson.

"Only the greatest gothic horror writer of our time. She's like Poe and Lovecraft's little mistake."

"Right, great." This knowledge only added to Wilson's disinterest in entering the creepy old House that loomed before them. "Why don't I just wait out here."

"Oh come on. Do you know how few people have ever had the chance to actually meet Renata Rollins?" House couldn't believe his ears.

"Why didn't you ask one of them to come?" Wilson pulled a newspaper off the back seat.

"Wimp." House taunted.

"Yep." Wilson eagerly agreed.

"Why do I bother taking you anywhere?" House got out of the car slowly.

"Beats me." Wilson shrugged and checked out the headlines.

"Oh fine. But you better be here when I get back." House hobbled along the dirt path that lead to the front porch. "And you're buying dinner," he called back over his shoulder.

"If it means I don't have to go into the really creepy house to meet the really creepy patient, I can live with that."

House slowly mounted the three, warped steps to the porch. This would have been a lot more fun with Wilson at his side, but whatever. He was a loner. He liked being alone. He pulled the antique doorbell, alone, and he liked it, or so he tried to convince himself.

He leaned over and tried to peer in the window while he waited, but the curtains were pulled shut and all he could see was that they were made of a heavy velvet.

"Can I help you?" A surprisingly happy looking woman stood before him. House had really expected some sort of skeletal figure dressed all in black, but the short, plump red head was wearing a brightly colored, flowing caftan.

"Dr. Gregory House, here to see Renata Rollins." He reached in his pocket. His camera phone was ready. He knew she wouldn't allow a picture to be taken, so he'd have to act fast, when the moment arrived.

"You're not the one we called." She frowned at him. "One moment." The woman left him standing on the porch as she swung the door shut.

Once he was convinced she was out of sight, he tried the door. Surprisingly it was unlocked. He really wasn't expecting that. He smiled back at Wilson, then walked in.

The inside of the house was much like the outside, spooky by design. A heavy dust hung over every surface, but the house did not feel dirty, just neglected. A large oil painting hung at the landing straight ahead, where the stairs stopped and turned direction.

It had to be Renata Rollins. She was just as he pictured her, dark haired, deep, mysterious eyes, impeccably put together.

His view became blocked by the planet like presence of the woman who'd opened the door, and then slammed it in his face. "I did not let you in."

"You didn't lock me out either." House replied, eying her up, making his judgment.

She was not a woman to tangle with, strong and sturdy, and used to dealing with difficult personalities. She wouldn't roll over and play dead for him.

"Wait in the parlor. Do you think you can do that without getting lost?" She eyed him angrily. He had clearly disrupted her perfectly run household.

"I think I can, but if you have a map..." he was glad she huffed off, because he didn't really know what else he might say.

He followed her plodding figure into the room whose window he'd tried to look in from the porch. He recognized the drapes right away. They were much more ornate on this side, but the pattern was basically the same. "Nice curtains," he said to her back as she left him.

He heard the key turning in the door, and when he tried it, it was locked. He pulled out his mobile and hit 1.

"What?" Wilson's annoyed voice answered after seeing the name on the screen.

"She locked me in a room." House said, more amused than anything.

"Renata Rollins locked you in a room?" Wilson tried to process this. "Maybe she wants to have her wicked way with you." Even his voice was rolling it's eyes.

"More likely she wants to suck out my soul and use it to keep her young." House laughed.

"Oooh, did you find a big painting of her looking all old and decrepit?"

"I thought you didn't like horror novels."

"It was a movie." Wilson protested. He'd seen the Portrait of Dorian Grey when he was a boy. It was on late night television. It scared the shit out of him.

House hung up the phone without another word. He was staring at the most amazing Stravarius he'd ever seen. It was sitting on top of an antique Ningbo wedding cabinet.

"Do you play, Dr. House?" A cool, reserved voice came from behind him. He hadn't heard the door open and spun to face her. It was a face he'd seen before. It was the face in the painting. She had to be Renata's daughter.

"A little." House had only ever toyed with the violin, as a boy, when he was going through his Sherlock Holmes phase, but he wasn't going to tell her all that.

"Perhaps you could play for me sometime." There was a sadness about her that he found unsettling. It must be her mother's illness getting to her. Or perhaps Renata was her grandmother. That seemed like it could be right.

"I'd really like to see your grandmother now." He assessed her carefully. She was younger than him, but not by much. Her face held the knowledge of age, but still had a youthful glow to it that pointed to a well lived life. She was pretty, in a cold, unapproachable way. Not his type at all, but Wilson would probably do her, in a pinch.

The woman laughed, a lifeless, empty sort of laugh.

"Not your grandmother?" House really had thought he'd added the ages right.

"No, not my grandmother." The woman smiled at him coolly.

"Well, she is expecting me." House's mind was working double time. Maybe great grandmother?

"No, she wasn't." She walked over to a roll top desk and pulled out a neatly stuffed folder. "I don't think this was a good idea." She looked anxious, like a frightened rabbit, unsure which way to run as two bright, blinding headlights came down on her.

"Well, I'm the best doctor at Princeton Plainsboro, so she SHOULD have called me." House's ego was slightly bruised. Cameron had taken the call, and informed House about the case. If they weren't expecting him, who the hell did they think they were getting?

"Your reputation is well known, Dr. House." She almost smiled a genuine smile at him, but she couldn't quite seem to pull it off. "But you can't help us. You must leave." She hurried him toward the door.

"Can't I at least meet her? I'm a huge fan." House felt his opportunity slipping away.

"Another time perhaps. She's not feeling well today." House looked over her shoulder, wondering what she found so facinating that she kept glancing that way. He saw nothing.

"Well, then, you're in luck." He dug his heels in, refusing to be shoved away. "I just so happen to be a doctor. What a coinicidence." He tried to make his large frame as unthreatening as possible. It wasn't easy. She was a rather petite woman.

"Please, Dr. House." She looked over her shoulder in time to see the other woman bring in a tray of tea. "Thank you Cora, but Dr. House was just leaving." She gave him a bit of a shove.

House looked at both women carefully, then allowed himself to be shown to the door without futher protest. Something was going on in this house, and he was going to find out what, but he felt sure that right now, he should leave.

"Thank you for coming Dr. House." The woman with chocolate brown eyes looked at him pleadingly. He couldn't tell exactly what he was expected to see. She looked away too soon.

"That was fast." Wilson looked up from the paper as House dropped into the passenger seat.

"I didn't even get to meet her," House huffed.

"What?"

House stared at the old Victorian mansion as Wilson started up the car. His hand dropped quickly on Wilson's arm. "This is your fault."

"My fault?"

"You were supposed to be my wing man."

"Wing man?" Wilson looked at House with humor as he drove off.

The heavy brocade curtain in the middle upstairs window fell back into place as the car vanished down the long gravel path. House looked back a moment too late to notice.

The car stopped suddenly. "What did you do that for?" Wilson hadn't been the one to stop it, and was now glaring at House, whose hand was on the emergency break.

"Something's going on in that house and I want to know what it is."

"Yeah, well, I want to go get a Philly Cheese Steak at Ralph's, so..." He struggled to push House's hand off the break. House let go, and darted out of the car. Wilson groaned and rolled down his window. "I'm not waiting here for you." He hoped that threat would knock some sense into his friend, but he should have known better.

"Fine." House barely turned to acknowledge his friend. He had a mystery to solve. After a month without a case, a month of Cuddy breathing down his neck, a month of nothing but snot nosed kids and bitchy mothers, he finally had a real mystery on his hands. He wasn't about to let it slip by.

House was surprisingly agile as he slipped around the back of the house, darting from bush to bush to remain unseen. The handful of Vicodin he tossed down his throat just before exiting Wilson's car probably had something to do with it.

He was not surprised to find all the doors and windows of the first floor locked. There was, however, a lucky break in one of the basement windows. One gentle bang with rubber end of his cane and the glass shattered.


	2. Back at the Hospital

**MEANWHILE BACK AT THE HOSPITAL**

Cuddy stormed into Wilson's office. "Where the hell is he?"

"Huh, wha." Wilson quickly clicked his mouse button, and sat up in his seat trying very hard not to look guilty.

"House! Where is he?" Cuddy stood close to his desk, glaring down at him. Wilson thought he might pee his pants. She was NOT happy.

"I don't know." He tried to avoid her gaze, glancing around his office. He really needed to redecorate. His office had been exactly the same for years. No wonder he felt like he was in a rut. She pulled him out of his tangent.

"What do you mean you don't know? You always know where he is." She glared at him, hoping he'd crack. "Did he tell you not to tell me where he is? Is he doing something illegal?"

"Would you want to know if he was?" Wilson tried to act as though he knew nothing. Something told him Cuddy wouldn't be so happy about House left unattended at a patients home, especially not a patient who had given as much money to the hospital as Renata Rollins had.

"You really don't know where he is?" She didn't sound totally convinced.

"Uh, no." Crap! That didn't sound convincing at all. "I'd tell you if I did."

She started tapping her foot impatiently. He hated when she did that. "No you wouldn't."

Wilson cracked easily under the pressure. "He's with a patient."

"I've looked all over the hospital; he's not with a patient. Where is he?" She had a rather irate clinic patient waiting in her office, who had spent the past half hour coming up with creatively derogatory names for the good doctor.

"He's not in the hospital." Wilson squirmed in his seat.

"What do you mean he's not in the hospital?"

"What do you think I mean?" He sounded more nervous than defiant.

"He went to a patient's house?" That was interesting.

"It's some writer, he's a fan." Wilson still didn't get the appeal of a creepy woman who wrote scary books.

"Renata Rollins?"

"You know her too?" Wilson was feeling very out of the loop.

"House lent me a book once." Cuddy blew off the question quickly. "That woman is very disturbed." Cuddy had nightmares for weeks after reading the book House had given her, The Door at the End of the Hall. She shivered now, as bits of it came back to her.

"Well, no wonder he likes her." Wilson snickered.

"Call him." Cuddy handed him his receiver. "Tell him he needs to come to the hospital right away."

"Why don't you call him?" Wilson tried to hand it back, but she didn't take it.

"Because if I tell him I want him back here, he won't come back here." She rolled her eyes.

"What do you want me to say?" Wilson hated being wedged in the middle of House and Cuddy's battle of wills.

"Tell him you have a hot patient. That always gets his attention."

Wilson dialed House's number and waited. The line kept ringing. Finally he heard House's voice. "You have reached my cell phone. I don't want to talk to you right now. If you leave a message, I won't call back." Wilson hung up without leaving a message. "It's his voice mail."

Cuddy sighed. "How long has he been there?"

Wilson looked at the clock. Time had flown. "Over three hours." Now he was worried.

"What?" Cuddy could see the sudden change in Wilson's expression.

"Nothing." Wilson shook off the bad feeling he was having in the bottom of his gut.

"Wilson, you're the worst liar I've ever met."

"That place…I just have a bad feeling."

Cuddy smiled uncomfortably. "I have it too."

"Wanna go for a ride?" Wilson asked sheepishly.

"Meet me in the garage in ten minutes." Cuddy hurried back to her office. Mr. Harrison was waiting for her and had grown expotentially more aggrivated as the minutes ticked by.

"Where is he?" Harrison stood up and looked behind her. His fists were clenched, ready for a fight.

"I'm sorry Mr. Harrison," she hurriedly began to usher him toward the door as she spoke. "Dr. House is with a critical patient right now, and taking him away from what he is doing would surely be detrimental to that patient at this moment."

Harrison dug his heals in. "What about his detrimental actions toward THIS patient?"

Cuddy tried to surpress a giggle. "Mr. Harrison. I understand perfectly why you are upset..."

"Upset? I am beyond upset. I have been waiting here for..."

"I understand that House yanking that pen out of your rectum in such a careless manner was humiliating and painful. It was wrong of him to do, and he will be repremanded for it. But it did not cause you any long term harm or affect your overall health, so while I appreciate your desire to cause him equal pain and humiliation, I do not generally take my doctors away from patients who are clinging to life to deal with ones who are experimenting with anal pleasures and get a little carried away." She shoved him out the door. "If you would like, you can take it up with one of our lawyers, third floor. The elevators are over there." She pointed him in the direction of the lifts and hurried out the door before he had time to stop her.

"What took so long?" Wilson looked at her harried expression and wished he'd not said anything.

"Just get in the car and drive." She slammed her door and began plotting new and unusual ways to get House back for making her deal with yet another idiotic, irate patient.


	3. The Unwelcome Guests

**THE UNWELCOME GUESTS**

Cuddy strode up the porch steps and rang the bell forcefully. She was tapping one foot irritably on the worn wooden boards. It was driving Wilson crazy, but he didn't dare say anything.

After over ten minutes of constant ringing, the door finally opened. "What do you want?" The usually pleasant woman snapped.

"I want to see Dr. House." Cuddy snapped back.

"I don't know who you are talking about." Cora tried to close the door, but Cuddy pushed past her and stormed inside. Wilson followed quickly.

"Yes, you do. Where is he?" Cuddy's eyes surveyed the large hallway. Paintings hung on the wall, antiques were placed carefully throughout the room. Everything seemed perfect, a perfectly eclectic blend of styles and periods that worked together even though they shouldn't. In another time and place she would have been impressed.

"You have to leave." Cora used her bulk to push them back toward the door.

"I'm not going anywhere." Cuddy actually had to hold the door frame to keep from being expelled from the House.

Cora looked over at Wilson. "Very well. Wait in the parlor." She led them both through a door, and, as with House, she locked it behind them.

"Why would they lock us in?" Wilson walked to the door and began pulling at the handle unsuccessfully.

"I don't know, but I don't intend to stay here." Cuddy looked around the room. There were no other visible doors. She noted the same Stradivarius House had seen earlier, but did not linger on it as he had. She was, however, stopped by the most beautiful Louis IVX roll top desk she'd ever seen.

She walked over, brushing her hand across it the ornate surface.

"This is no time to go antiquing," Wilson protested.

"I need to find something long and very thin, and strong, preferably metal." She tried to open the top of the desk, hoping to find a letter opener, but it was locked so she moved on. On a buffet style table lining the farthest wall she found a small crystal nut bowl flanked on one side by a beautiful antique nutcracker and on the other side by a carafe of some sort of amber liquid.

Inspecting the nutcracker further, she found what she was looking for. "Perfect," she said to the room, drawing Wilson's attention away from a wall of books, all written by the house's owner, Renata Rollins.

"What's perfect?" Wilson came over to her, but she was already racing toward the door.

"Keep your ear to the door. Let me know if you hear anyone coming back." Cuddy got down on her knees and stuck her eye through the keyhole, then she replaced it with the nut pick.

"What are you doing?" Wilson whispered oddly through clenched teeth.

"Shhh, pay attention." She whispered back, twisting the pick this way and that.

"Oh, I heard a click." Wilson looked down at Cuddy who had a triumphant smile on her face.

"Where'd you learn that?" He tossed the book he'd been absentmindedly holding onto the sofa half way across the room, congratulated himself briefly for the good aim, then followed her though the door.

"House taught me." She first stuck her head out the door, looking around, checking the coast for clearness.

"One of these days you're going to tell me more about this." Wilson wondered what else House had taught her, and why he hadn't taught him how to pick a lock.

"We'll get more done if we split up. You take the downstairs, I'll go upstairs." Cuddy approached the staircase.

"Beep me if you find him." Wilson checked his coat pocket. His beeper was on, she knew his number.

"You do the same." She too double checked her beeper. It was on silent, which was good. Nothing ruins sneaking around like a loud and sudden beeping sound. She thought about putting it on vibrate, but that, too, would make a noise, a quiet noise, but she had just been locked in a room in a rather spooky house, so she wasn't taking any chances.

Cuddy slipped quietly up the stairs, her high heels in one hand, the other holding the banister, trying to divert some weight, keeping the stairs from creaking.

Wilson waited until she was out of his sight before beginning his search. There were four doors not including the front door, which was the one he would prefer to go through, but right now it was not an option. His options were the open door across the hall, the closed door behind the stairs, or the other closed door across from that.

Wilson, not being the most adventurous soul, opted for the open door. He approached it carefully, as though sneaking up on it. Once he was so close he was breathing on it, he poked his head in quickly, his eyes darting too and fro. He didn't realize until that moment that he had been holding his breath, so he let it out with great relief.

With a bit more confidence, and glad no one was around to see his knees shaking, he walked through the door. He found himself in the formal dining room. A long table stretched down the middle of the rectangular room. Ten chairs surrounded it, each perfectly spaced and neatly tucked in. A bright white lace tablecloth was draped over a deep red silk one. The whole thing reeked of a special occasion.

That feeling was compounded by the large bouquet of white flowers of various shapes and forms that sat in the place of honor in the center of the table. Two silver candelabras flanked it.

Wilson quickly popped his head under the table. Nothing was hiding under there but the legs of all the chairs and table. He stood up, relieved and feeling terribly silly. He really couldn't believe he was doing this, and he had laughed when Miss Scarlet did it, with much more finesse than he was going to manage, but he slowly crept up to the long silk curtains, and after taking a deep breath, lunged at one of them, pushing it aside to reveil...a window.

It was a surprisingly clean window, well, more of a french door, and it led out to a small sort of garden. He thought for a moment, about going out there, but really, did he think House was out picking daisies? House didn't even like daisies.

Deciding not to check the garden, as it was starting to grow dark already, as happens in mid October, he headed for the only other door in the room. Not surprisingly it led to the kitchen. Surprisingly, however, there was someone there.


	4. The Door at the End of the Hall

**THE DOOR AT THE END OF THE HALL**

The upstairs hall was dark. In the high ceiling only one small, dim bulb covered by opaque alabaster was expected to illuminate the long, narrow space. There were several doors disrupting the ornate pattern of the richly colored wallpaper, but one in particular stood out. Renata Rollins had named a book after it. Cuddy was sure this was the hallway she described in such vivid detail in the first book House had given her to read.

It was a simple wooden door, smaller then the others. It just had to lead to the attic. Doors like that always led to attics, cramped, cluttered attics that just screamed stay out or die. She didn't even want to think of what might be behind it. Instead she focused on the door beside her, a lovely door that did not seem to be a portal to horror beyond her wildest imagination.

The doorknob didn't move. The room was locked. Pressing her ear to the door she heard nothing. No light shown from the crack underneath. It was too early for someone to be sleeping. She pulled the nut pick out of her pocket, glad she'd had the forethought to hold on to it, and made easy work of the flimsy Victorian lock.

The room, like the hall, was dark and foreboding. A small sliver of light came in through tightly closed curtains. She debated the safety of switching on the light, or traversing through the dark room to open the curtains.

Her decision was made for her as a hard, blunt instrument came crashing down on her head.

When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the soft bed beneath her. She tried to move, and was surprised to find that she could. She was not tied to the bed, or held captive in any way. Her next thought was a gun, or some other deterrent that would keep her from running away so she opened her eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice assaulted her.

"House? You're okay?" Her eyes were still blurry, and she had a screaming headache, but she would have known that voice anywhere.

"Better than you." She watched as he put another cold, wet pillowcase to her head. "Cold compress," he told her and swatted away her reaching hand. "It'll help keep the swelling down."

"Not hitting me would have kept the swelling down." She was not too dazed to be pissed. "Why the hell did you hit me?"

"Why the hell did you sneak into a dark room in a house that you have no right being in?" House always managed to be indignant. It didn't matter that she was here because she was worried about him, and thought he'd been hacked to pieces by a raving maniac, it was still not his fault she got knocked unconscious, by him, in a room he also had no right to be in.

"I was looking for you." She grabbed the pillowcase from his hand, and slapped his hand away.

House looked insulted, but sat down on the edge of the bed, and watched her. "You found me."

"Clearly," she moaned, adjusting the wet pillowcase, and wondering why she'd wanted to find him in the first place. "What are you doing here?"

"Being drugged and held captive. You?" He tried to sound casual, like this kind of thing happened to him all the time, but Cuddy could hear the underlying fear in his voice, and it terrified her.

"What? Why? Who?"

"You forgot when, where and how." He informed her.

"I know where, you ass, and when, well, I'm assuming some time today. As for how, you covered it with drugged I think. And if the who spent any time with you, then I know the why." She groaned. Her head was pounding, and yelling at him wasn't helping any.

"Stay still." He pulled the make shift compress out of her hand, and tried to force her to lie down. "You're going to give yourself a headache."

"Great, it can play with the one you already gave me." He was right though, she needed to calm down, or she'd just feel worse. She pounded her fists into the bed as she laid back on the pillows.

She shot up again, reaching into her pocket. "I have to page Wilson, let him know I found you."

House pulled the small device from her hands and did the honors. Once he sent the message, he leaned over and slid the item back into her pocket, slowly. She simply watched him, an annoyed scowl on her face. "Are you done yet?"

"You've got big pockets." House finally pulled his hand out and remained inches away from her face. "You know I love a woman with big pockets." He smiled.

Cuddy smiled back, but quickly wiped it off her face and pushed him away. "How can you joke at a time like this?"

"I wasn't joking, I was flirting." He sat up, disappointed.

"If that's your idea of flirting, then I see why you have to pay for sex." She couldn't help herself. She knew they had more important things to talk about, but House always baited her into a battle of witticisms.

"Oh, you want to get paid? How much would it take?" He pulled out his wallet, fumbling through the three dollars he had in there.

"You had better tell me what's going on House!" That was enough banter. It was time to get serious.

"How the hell should I know?" It was killing him that he didn't know, but now that he'd been 'rescued' he was damned well going to find out. "Get up." He pulled her out of bed.

"Where are we going?"

"I have no idea." He dragged her out into the hallway. It was exactly as she'd left it, dark and uninviting.

"How can anyone live in this place," she looked at the death mask on the wall. She hadn't noticed that before.

"I think it's charming." House smiled at the mask, then at her. He loved annoying her. "Pick a door."

"What?"

"Pick a door. Any door."

"Why aren't we going down the stairs? Do you plan on jumping out a window?"

"I plan on finding out why I was locked in a room and given a cyanide cocktail."

"If you were given cyanide, you'd be dead House."

"I don't know what they...shhhh." He heard someone coming, and dragged her through a door.


	5. Wilson's Predicament

**WILSON'S PREDICAMENT**

After a long deep breath, and reassuring himself that the other person in the kitchen was just his own reflection, Wilson laughed heartily. It felt good to laugh. He didn't realize how tense he'd been since House first stepped into this house. He would have never heard the end of it if House had been here with him. He stopped laughing as quickly as he'd started.

After a quick search of the kitchen, he headed back out into the hall. His heart stopped. The parlor door was open. Someone had been in there, or still was. After a long, torturous moment, he realized he hadn't moved, nor breathed, and that if he didn't do both, he was going to be in big trouble.

"Where is your little friend?" Cora's booming voice cut through him. He was in big trouble.

He gulped audibly. "She left." He willed himself to turn and face her, half expecting some horrible monster from his worst nightmares.

"And why didn't you go with her?" Cora menaced.

"I...I want to see House." She had seemed to buy his lie, which gave Wilson greater confidence. He'd lost a bit of it in the stutter.

"I was just upstairs asking if he was ready to see you."

"What do you mean?" Wilson had a bad feeling, but he couldn't quite place it.

"He is tending to my dear, dying employer. I would have preferred he remain uninterrupted, but as you and your girlfriend seemed hell bent on disturbing him..."

"She's not by girlfriend." Wilson latched on to the only part of what she was saying that made any sense to him.

"That is no concern of mine. Now, if you will please follow me, I'll take you to your friend." Cora turned and started back up the stairs. She seemed unconcerned with whether he was following her or not.

Wilson checked his pager quickly but there was no message yet. He tried to laugh at himself, to take off the edge that had only been getting sharper every minute he'd been in this house, and followed after her.

Their ascent was a slow one. Cora's girth filled the staircase, and her movements seemed to take great effort. This gave Wilson a chance to reflect on his time in the house. "Why did you lock us in that room?"

"Miss Rollins is a very private woman. She does not like strangers wondering around her house. I could not be certain that you weren't reporters come to snoop in her private affairs."

"We're doctors." Wilson was insulted by the idea.

"So you say, DOCTOR, but you would be surprised by the number of people who come here looking for souvenirs of the great Renata Rollins." Cora seemed softer now, more human and less like a flesh eating cannibal. Wilson felt himself relaxing as he listened to her nasally voice. "Or worse, those who come to see if she really sleeps in a coffin like the trash papers say."

"What?"

"You haven't heard the stories?" Cora had stopped on the landing, leaving Wilson a few steps below. She was now towering over him. "Don't you know what they say about her?" Wilson shook his head. "Lies! It's all lies!" Cora spun around and stormed off down the hall. After a stunned moment, Wilson hurried after her.

"What is wrong with, her, if you don't mind my asking? Perhaps I, too, can be of help."

"Perhaps you can." Cora didn't look back to speak to him, instead she was slowly unlocking a door at the far end of the hall. It was the only door on that wall, alone in a sea of floral wallpaper.

Wilson, never having read a Renata Rollins book, thought nothing of the door. Just an old Victorian attic door. He had only the slightest hesitation when he mounted the first step, followed by Cora, who shut and locked the door behind them.

"Ummm. Are you sure he's up here?" Wilson whispered. It seemed the kind of place that required whispering.

"Yes." She shoved him up the steps.

Wilson stood frozen when he reached the top. House was not there. There was a woman, though, about Cuddy's size, and with similar dark brown, shoulder length hair, but when she turned around, he knew immediately that it was not Cuddy.

"Where is House?" Wilson looked around furiously. "Who are..." his words were stopped abruptly by a needle in his arm. He sunk back into Cora's waiting arms.


	6. Betty Monroe

**BETTY MONROE**

Cuddy listened, her ear to the wall, as the footsteps passed. "It could be Wilson," Cuddy reminded him. "And it could not, so just shut up." House was staring in awe at the woman in the bed.

"He never replied to your page." Cuddy was growing worried.

"Shhhh."

A lamp on a bedside table gave enough illumination to see the old woman, though she was nearly buried in pillows and a thick down comforter. She did not move, nor make a sound, and House's first impression was that she was dead.

"Who is she?" Cuddy felt certain the footsteps had passed them, and left her post at the door.

"It's her," he whispered. "It has to be her." House's heart sunk. The woman he had so admired, who's stories of the bizarre and macabre worlds of her own nightmares got him through the constant moves from country to country, the taunting of kids who thought he was a nerd and not worthy of their friendship, and the cruel sternness of his father untempered by his mothers passivity, was now nothing more than a living corpse.

She had to be edging up to 100 years old. He had read her books as a boy, and they were already classics back then. She looked every year of her age and then some. Small, and frail and ghostly pale, her cheeks collapsed against sharp cheekbones, her eyes were sunken so deep into her skull he couldn't tell if they were opened or closed.

"Miss Rollins?" House reached down to take the old woman's pulse, but pulled back in horror as his fingers touched her icy skin.

When the initial shock passed, he slipped his fingers delicately around her fragile wrist. It was very faint, possibly just his mind playing tricks on him, but he thought he felt a pulse. "She's alive," he whispered to Cuddy.

He listened carefully for a moment, certain the corpse like woman had groaned an acknowledgement.

"I'm Dr. Gregory House. I'm here to help you."

Cuddy looked at him strangely. It was quite unlike House to sound so...comforting. While she listened to him talk, she subtly started searching the room.

Having taken the old woman's vitals, House reached his unfortunate diagnosis. "Miss Rollins, I'm sorry, but there is nothing I can do."

He was about to turn to Cuddy, ready to admit this was all a huge mistake when he felt cold, boney fingers clamp around his wrist tightly. He turned and looked into a pair of frighteningly empty eyes.

"You don't understand," her words came slowly, deep wheezing breaths separating each one. Her voice sounded dusty and archaic.

"What? What don't I understand?" House was intrigued. He couldn't help himself. He just knew something was going on. Something he couldn't even begin to understand, but he would be damned if he wasn't going to try. "Tell me."

She groaned and pointed to the door. Cuddy was the first to reach it. "House, someone's coming." The old woman let go of his arm and it fell to her side, lifeless. House tried to check on her, but Cuddy was dragging him into a closet.

The closet was small, and pitch black. House could stretch out his arms and touch both ends.

Cuddy knelt down to look through the keyhole.

House smiled, though she couldn't see him in the pitch darkness. "I've always wanted you on your kn..."

"Shhhhhh." She nudged his leg as a warning and he shut up. A moment later he pressed his ear hard against the door. Still he couldn't make out what was happening. Frustrated, he bent himself in half, his bottom pressed up against the back corner of the closet, the top of his head pressed against the door, not so gently nudging Cuddy away from the keyhole.

Cuddy pushed him away easily, and while he tried to regain his balance as quietly as he could, she watched as an elegant brunette entered the bedroom. "Shhhhh," she warned House, who had fallen against the wall rather louder than she'd have liked.

"Then don't push me," he whispered in her ear," having regained control of himself.

"House!" Cuddy pulled on his pant leg. "She's coming this way!"

House thought as quickly as he could. His first instinct was to use his cane, but that had been taken from him when he was drugged. The only weapon he had on him was a small flashlight. It wouldn't do much, but it might startle her enough, if he timed it just right.

Cuddy watched as House threw open the door and charged at the woman, his flashlight aimed high, into her eyes. As planned, she was looking right at it and was momentarily blinded.

Cuddy knew she only had seconds, and with full force, she charged at the woman, knocking her to the ground. "Get something to tie her with," Cuddy struggled to keep the woman down, while keeping her arm firmly around the woman's mouth.

"Nice." House had only intended on escaping, but this was much better. He took a moment to enjoy the two attractive women wrestling at his feet.

"House!." Cuddy elbowed the struggling woman in the chest. "I can't hold her much longer."

"Oh, I bet you could." Still, House decided to do his part, and looked around the room for some ropelike substance. He really hadn't thought this far ahead. The only thing that seemed even remotely feasible were the sheer curtains hanging in the window. He yanked them down with his weight.

"QUIETLY," Cuddy loudly whispered as the curtain rod went crashing to the ground.

"Uh, too late for that." House hobbled over and wrapped the woman up.

"Take off your belt." Cuddy ordered, holding on hand on the woman's mouth, the other up at House.

"You wanna do it NOW?" He looked around. The bed was occupied, but he guessed he could do it on the floor if he had to.

"It's for a gag, you idiot." Cuddy grabbed the belt from his hands as soon as he'd removed it, and, shoving the end of the curtain in their captives mouth, she tied it tightly with the belt.

House watched with admiration. "Wilson owes me $50." He smiled.

"What?" Cuddy was too curious to let that one pass.

"I told him you were into bondage, but he didn't believe me."

"Shut up House." She pulled herself up, pushing away his offer of help, and straightened out her skirt. "Now what?"

"Now we get some answers." House looked down at the bound woman, who, under such duress looked to be a bit older than him. Maybe quite a bit, actually. "Who are you?"

After a brief mumble, Cuddy snickered and looked at him patronizingly. "She can't answer you while she's gagged."

"I know that!" House snapped. He tried to think of some yes or no questions instead. "Did you come in here to see Renata?"

She nodded her head, yet there was a strange little twinkle in her eye.

"Did you come here to find us?" He felt Cuddy standing close beside him. He fought the urge to put a protective arm around her.

Another nod threw him.

Cuddy smirked. She could tell by his face that wasn't the answer he wanted.

"Right." He turned the needle over a few times in his long fingers. "So, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to remove that gag, you're not going to scream, and I'm not going to kill you. Sound like fun?"

"House!" Cuddy didn't like the plan at all. It wasn't the answer part she objected to as much as the killing. They were supposed to save lives, not end them.

The woman nodded too eagerly. House frowned down at her.

"Wait a minute." House wandered over to the bed, pushed some of the covers over to the other side, and sat down on the edge. He stared into the sunken face of Renata Rollins. "I'm not done with you yet."

The younger woman, tied up on the floor began struggling violently. Cuddy looked down at her with pity in her eyes, then gave her a nudge with her foot. House smiled his approval.

"Now," House turned back to the skeletal face, "what is it I don't understand?"

"That could take all day," Cuddy groaned, wondering over to the window.

"I wasn't asking you," House snapped.

"Betty...Monroe..." the old woman rasped. Their captive struggled again, making strange protesting sounds through her gag.

"Never heard of her." House turned his attention to the protestor, but said and did nothing to her. Cuddy had returned with half the curtain rod, and the woman shut up abruptly.

"My...name..." the dying woman spoke again, so softly House had almost missed it.

The woman on the floor began flopping like a fish.

"Keep her quiet." House realized she was trying to make enough noise for her pal Cora to hear. Cuddy shrugged, unsure what to do, so House got up, took the curtain rod, and brought it down hard on the woman's head. "Was that so difficult?"

Cuddy just stood staring at him.

"Oh, thanks for the weapon." Clearly Cuddy hadn't planned on using it as a weapon, so it must have been for him.

"Next time try using it cane." She groaned.

House grinned sheepishly at her, and measured up the rod. It was exactly the right length for him to walk with. "Awe, and I didn't get you anything."

"Just get me out of here and we'll call it even."

"That's hardly even. I think you'll have to sleep with me to make up the difference." Hey, it was worth a shot.

"House, let's focus on getting Wilson and getting out of here first, okay?"

House turned back to the old woman. It was almost imperceptible, but something had changed. He leaned over, there was no breath escaping her lips. "Well that sucks!" He straightened back up.

Cuddy already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. It seemed the polite thing to do. "What?"

"She's dead."

"What do we do now?" If there really were a choice, Cuddy would have chosen a long, hot bath with lots of candles and Carmina Burana at full volume, but that really wasn't an option right now. Their choices were far more basic. Fight or flight, those were there choices now.


	7. Wilson's Darkest Fear

**WILSON'S DARKEST FEAR**

Shaking off the groggy feeling that had overcome him, Wilson got up and looked around. The room was dark and dusty, like it hadn't been used in years…or maybe centuries. Wilson shivered off that thought and pulled himself out of bed. He had to find House and Cuddy and get the hell out of here.

He cautiously opened the door, turning his head every way he could, searching for signs of life. Seeing no one, hearing nothing, he hurried off down the hall. Down and down the long dark corridor he went. It hadn't seemed this long when he came in, and he thought there had been stairs as well.

Wilson tried to shake off his doubt and confusion. He needed to stay focused. He turned down another hall and found a flight of stairs. He rushed down the large stone staircase, taking the steps two at a time. "House! Cuddy!" He called out their names.

He heard screaming. It was a woman. It was more than a woman. It was Cuddy! He took off in the direction of the screams, running as fast as he could down yet another corridor. He rushed passed door after door. If felt like the hall was closing in around him as he turned yet another corner, and found himself faced with yet another corridor. "Cuddy! I'm coming!"

Her screams came from every direction. He ran, throwing upon door after door. Each one opened to an empty room, after a while the rooms all looked the same. The screaming continued. Wilson felt himself at a near panic. He threw open another door, and another.

He finally came to a door that wouldn't open. He could hear her screaming inside. The door rattled and groaned as he tried to dislodge it with his shoulder. His shoulder cried out in pain as it was thrust against the hard wood surface again and again. "I'm coming!" Bang. He threw himself at the door again and again.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure rush past. "HOUSE!" He cried out. "Cuddy is in here!" House hurried past, paying him no heed. "HOUSE!" Wilson called after his friend, started to run after his friend, but Cuddy's cries of pain rang through his head.

He slammed his weak body against the door once more, and with a great cracking sound, it flew from it's frame and he stumbled into the room. Wilson ignored the shooting pain he felt when his body crashed to the hard stone floor.

Pulling himself to his feet he looked around. Cuddy was not there, but her screams were deafening. There were three doors, not counting the one he crashed through. Each on a different wall. Each door seemed to be the source of her screaming.

He stood paralyzed, not knowing which way to turn.

"Who are you going to save?" House's voice made him jump sky high.

"House! What the hell are you doing?" Wilson turned and looked at his friend. "You take that door, I'll get this one." Wilson darted toward the door on his left, but House did not move.

"Are you sure that's the one you want to go through?" House inquired anxiously.

"We've got to save Cuddy."

"Why?" House looked at him curiously. "Is she in danger?"

"Can't you hear her screaming?" Wilson thought his ears would start bleeding from the agonizing sound.

"That's not Cuddy." House stated with a touch of surprise in his voice.

"How the hell do you know?" Wilson was losing his temper. "What is going on here House?"

"You must choose a door." House said casually, leaning against the wall.

"Why?"

"Because, if you don't, then all three of them will die." House smiled. "Of course, two of them will die anyway. So choose wisely."

"Wait! What do you mean?"

"You can't save everybody Wilson. You have to choose."

Suddenly Wilson heard three distinct screams, all coming from everywhere. He turned to face House, but his friend was gone. "HOUSE!"

The room fell silent. Wilson looked around, frantic.

"Jimmy?" A voice he hadn't thought he'd ever hear again called out to him. "Jimmy, why aren't you looking for me? Why did you let me go?" Wilson shuddered at his brother's voice. Shuddered at the thought of the brother he had given up on so many years ago.

"I'm sorry Peter...I..." He had no words to explain his failure. "I should have been there for you." But he hadn't been. He'd given up. Why?

House had needed him. It was right after House's infarction. That was right. Wilson started spending more time with the ailing doctor. He stopped spending his free time searching for his brother. House had needed him.

"And me?" The voice had changed to a soft, feminine voice.

"Julie?" Wilson felt a lump in his throat.

"Why did you abandon me James? All I wanted was to do was be your wife, to take care of you and love you, and..." her voice held such sorrow he felt his heart breaking.

"I tried." Wilson pleaded. "You cheated on me." Wilson knew perfectly well that wasn't really the issue. He'd abandoned his wife long before she'd turned to someone else. Maybe he hadn't even been there for her to begin with. House had broken up with Stacy just after the Wilson's married. It was a rough time. House had needed him.

The last voice ripped Wilson to the core. It was a low, deep laugh, and it was mocking him. Wilson spun around, expecting to see House leaning against the wall, but he wasn't there.

"I was always there for you House, so don't even try it." Wilson spun around, talking to the room in general, unable to find the source of that all too familiar laughter.

"I wouldn't dream of it," House said, his voice holding none of the sorrow or anguish of the other two. "I don't want you to save me. I've never wanted you to save me. Go pick one of those other two losers. They need you more than I do." The laughed climaxed then died in his ears.

Wilson lunged at one of the doors and threw it wide open. House's smiling face stared back at him. "Wrong again." Wilson heard the anguished, dying screams of his wife and brother.

He tore open one of the doors. Julie was swinging from a rope, hanging from the ceiling. He ran in horror to the last remaining door. Peter was lying in a pool of blood, his face unrecognizable from the shotgun blast.

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" Wilson fell into a heap on the floor.


	8. The Real Renata Rollins

**THE REAL RENATA ROLLINS**

House looked down at the dead woman. "Betty Monroe?"

"Does that name mean anything to you?" Cuddy was double checking the still unconscious woman laying on the ground, but looked up at House for a moment. "You didn't have to hit her so hard."

"No. But it sure felt good." House smiled as he searched through the bedside table.

Cuddy watched him with quite a but if unveiled annoyance. "We should look for Wilson, and then get the hell out of here."

"In a minute." House began digging through dresser drawers, pulling everything out and tossing it on the floor. "There's got to be some clue here."

"Maybe there is no mystery House." Cuddy really wished that was true, but she knew it wasn't. "Maybe Renata Rollins was a penname." It could be.

"This is not Renata Rollins." House motioned to the dead, decrepit body. "THAT," he pointed to the middle aged woman lying on the floor wrapped in a curtain, "is Renata Rollins."

Cuddy looked down at the woman in question, then at House. "She can't be."

"I don't know how, Cuddy, but that's her. You saw the portrait over the stairs didn't you?"

"Yes but..."

"THIS is THAT woman."

"But you don't know that THAT woman is Renata Rollins." She argued.

"Who the hell else could it be?" House liked his theory, no matter how outlandish it might have been, and he was sticking to it.

Cuddy had to think about it for a moment. "Maybe it's her daughter," she said triumphantly.

"It's not." House shot the idea down quickly. He stopped searching for a moment and glared at her. "You know, this would go a lot faster if you helped."

"I don't even know what you're looking for." Her arms were crossed and that's exactly how she intended to keep them until he was ready to go find Wilson.

"Me either." House gave her a funny look, then started searching again. He made a mental note never to take her to a patient's house for a search. She just so wasn't into it.

"Then what do you expect to find?" Cuddy was annoyed, but realized House wasn't going anywhere until she at least made an effort, so she began fumbling through a pile of papers on a table by the bed.

"Answers, Cuddy, answers." His mind was spinning with possibilities. Why did a century old author appear no older than him? He didn't look THAT old, did he? Nah, he was ahotty. All the young chicks dug him. He snuck a peak over at Cuddy. She was paying him no attention, her eyes riveted to a handful of papers.

Maybe Renata had discovered some sort of fountain of youth, or she has some other painting, like the one at the foot of the stairs, only in it she is all old and haggard. Maybe she sold her soul to the devil. For a split second House had an image of Cora with red horns and a tail dancing around a ring of fire with Wilson tied in the center of it. The fire was fueled by a pile of books. Wilson looked oddly like Joan of Arc.

"House!" Cuddy called him again. "She's up." Cuddy looked over in Renata's direction.

The woman on the floor moaned. House and Cuddy looked down at her, waiting for her to be fully cognizant. The hateful glare in her eyes told them she was.

"Are you Renata Rollins?" House asked slowly.

She just stared at him so he repeated his question, louder and slower this time. "Are you Renata Rollins?"

Her head slowly moved up and down.

"HA! Told you." House turned and taunted Cuddy.

"Whatever," Cuddy groaned. "Now get her to tell us what is going on."

"I will!" House snotted, a bit hurt at Cuddy's seeming lack of faith. He turned back toward Renata and stared at her, waiting for a yes or no question to pop into his head. "Do you know where Wilson is?"

The head nodded again.

"Is he in danger?"

Nod.

"Let's go." Cuddy grabbed House's arm.

"Go where?" House pulled away from her grasp. "We don't know where he is, or what is going on."

"Where he is, is in this house, and what is going on is that he's in trouble." Cuddy made an anxious face at him.

"Don't you think that's a bit vague?" House retorted, turning back toward Renata. "Will you help us save him?"

An enthusiastic nod followed.

"You don't believe her do you?" Cuddy exclaimed.

"Of course not." House answered. "Still, we need answers." He looked around the room.

"And you don't think she's going to lie?" Cuddy asked sarcastically.

"Yes, but I know I'll be able to figure out the truth from her lies." He looked into Cuddy's eyes. "I'm that good."

"So what, we take the gag off and she screams, and while she's screaming and her little friend..."

"Little?" House made a face, thinking of the generous quantity of flesh that made up said little friend.

"Fine, while her BIG friend comes running toward the sound of her screams, we'll ask a few questions, she'll lie, if she's not too busy screaming, but you'll read right through all her lies and solve your little mystery right before we're bludgeoned to death. Good plan."

"Oh ye of little faith." House smirked, then reached into Renata's pocket. "Well, well, what do we have here?" He pulled out a small revolver with a mother of pearl handle. "It's what all the fashionable women are wearing these days."

"How did you..."

"Strange bulge in her pocket." House replied with great swagger. He pointed the gun at their captive and ordered Cuddy to ungag her. "One peep and its curtains for you Miss Rollins."

"Curtains?" Cuddy rolled her eyes as House grinned proudly.

"You can't stop me Dr. House." Renata spat.

"If that were true, you would have screamed. But you haven't, so you're not immortal, therefore this gun can very well stop you."

Cuddy smiled proudly at her best doctor, and friend. She knew he didn't need her approval, but she couldn't help but give it.

"Now you're going to tell us what is going on around here, in detail."

"And if I don't?"

"Are you unfamiliar with that whole 'curtains for you' analogy? Cause I would have thought..."

"House?" Cuddy urged him to hurry.

"Right, short answer is, you get a bullet through the brain. Soooooo, start talking!"


	9. Writer's Block

**WRITERS BLOCK**

Renata weighed her options carefully. Cora had sent her down to find them and kill them. That hadn't gone to plan, but Renata wasn't as upset by it as she expected. It was time.

She knew that the two people towering over her would not be moved by her tears. She wouldn't have been in their place, but the weariness of the years, and all that she'd done had finally caught up with her. She knew this was the end, and that warm and fuzzy thought had squeezed the reluctant tears from her eyes.

"Stop your blubbing and start talking." As expected, House was NOT moved.

"It all started..."

"Not your life story." House plopped down on the bed, and motioned Cuddy to sit beside him. Surprisingly she did. "Just get to the bit where you tell us where Wilson is and how we can save him."

Renata sighed. "He's in the attic, and you can't."

House had a sudden urge to hit her with the curtain rod again, but Cuddy grabbed his hand before he even made a move. He stared over at her, and she stared back. Her eyes were telling him what he already knew. Violence would not help Wilson.

"Fine...it all started..." House whined, not looking forward to a long story, but realizing Renata needed to tell it.

"When I first hired Cora." Renata twisted her body a bit, to a more comfortable position, as if that were possible. "She was from New Orleans, and her family, so she told me, were practitioners of voodoo. Naturally I was intrigued, and I hired her straight away."

House rolled his eyes, and felt Cuddy grab his hand again. "I wasn't going to hit her," House lied.

"Just give me the rod." Cuddy pried it out of his hand, and placed it on the bed behind her, out of his reach.

Renata ignored them. She felt she needed to say what she had to say before she died. "I had just written my first book. It had taken off in a way I was not expecting, and my publisher was pressuring me for another."

"Midnight in Hell," House informed Cuddy, who really could have cared less what Renata Rollins' first book was.

"Yes. You've read it?" Renata, like many writers, loved to discover new fans.

"It was quite good." House nodded. He felt his ribs impacted by Cuddy's elbow. "But that's irrelevant. Go on. And you'd better be getting to the part where you tell us what's happening to Wilson."

"I am getting there," Renata snotted, forgetting for a moment that she was facing impending death. "I had writers block, for months, I couldn't write a damned thing."

"My heart bleeds," House groaned sarcastically. "Now what about WILSON?"

Renata's eyes met his with furious distain. "Go ahead and shoot me," she challenged. "Put me out of my misery." Cuddy stared at her with wide eyes, she'd called their bluff. "I've lived far too long." Renata stared defiantly into House's eyes. Neither of them willing to back down.

"I don't have to kill you. I can just make you wish you were dead." House's words sent a chill down Cuddy's spine. She knew that he had done some unethical things in his life, and that his judgment was sometimes questionable, but she had never heard such vehement anger in his voice. She'd never seen him be so vicious. Then again, she'd never seen him trying to save his friends life.

"I already wish I were dead." Renata answered with a dead calm. Then she went back into her story. "If I'd have known what was about to happen, I might have offed myself that cold winter night, when Cora came to me with a solution to my problem."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," House bellowed. "I'm just going to shoot her. We can find Wilson on our own." House cocked the gun, but Cuddy grabbed his hand, making aiming an impossibility. "She's not going to tell us anything Cuddy," he struggled to shake the small but strong woman off.

"You can't just kill her House!"

"Why not? What do you think she had this gun for Cuddy? Killing flies?"

Cuddy hadn't really thought about it actually. She looked down at Renata and saw the truth in her eyes. She closed her own tightly, then gulped, fighting the urge for revenge. "Don't do it House. We can leave her here. Find Wilson ourselves..."

"And what?" Renata laughed a cold, hollow laugh.

"And get the hell out of here!" House boomed.

"She won't let you go." Renata said. "She won't let him go. Not until she's taken what she wants from him."

"And what is it she wants?" House demanded, the gun pointed right at Renata's head, despite Cuddy's still holding on to it.

"His soul." Renata said.

"That's it!" House cocked the gun.

Renata looked up at him, her eyes pleading for mercy, begging him to pull the trigger and put her out of her misery. She waited, but no bullet came.

"The day after I agreed to Cora's help, our typist went missing. Nice girl, not terribly bright, but all..."

"I don't care about your bloody typist!" House waved the gun around. His finger was aching from the desire to press down slowly on the hard little trigger.

"You should. Because your friend is going through the same thing she went through."

House looked at Cuddy. "She's..."

"Shhhh. I know." Cuddy tried to calm him, putting her hand on his back, and rubbing it slowly, carefully. She did not want to upset him any more than he was.

"I never saw the young woman again, only the product of her death." Renata could feel House's cold, hard glare. "The Secret Dungeon."

House furrowed his brow. "You're second novel?"

"Yes." Renata waited a moment, to see if it sunk in.

House's mind was racing, trying to put all the pieces together.

"You're killing people, to sell books?" Cuddy, too was struggling with the truth.

"That's the simple answer, yes."I wish I could tell you how she does it, but I don't know."

"Right," House snapped doubtfully.

"I don't. All I know is that your friend..." She looked at them, waiting. She needed to hear his name. She needed know it, and remember it.

"Wilson," Cuddy said quietly.

"Your friend Wilson is trapped inside his worst nightmare, and she won't let him go until the book is finished."

House's face just said 'huh?'

"And when he's finished, he'll end up like her." Renata nudged her head toward the dead woman on the bed. "She was Cora's last victim..."

"YOUR last victim!" House refused to let her justify away her guilt. "YOU have been living off the fame and fortune for decades. How many people have you killed, huh? You have what...almost fifty books now."

"Wilson's will be the fiftieth," Renata said quietly.

"Right! So you've killed fifty people now?"

"Forty nine," Cuddy corrected him. "Remember, she wrote the first book herself."

"Oh, that's different then. Only 49? Hell, let's just let her go then. She's as pure as the shit covered snow."

"When I realized what was really happening...what could I do? Who would have believed me?"

"What you can do right now is tell us how to save Wilson!" House snapped.

"I don't know how." Renata cried out. "Look, he's in the attic, asleep. Cora will be with him, watching him, taking notes or whatever it is she does. Her room is downstairs, across from the kitchen. I don't know if you'll find anything there, but that's your only hope."

"You forget," House said cockily, "I have a gun."

Renata laughed wearily again. "You think she doesn't? She'll have locked the door. She'll hear you coming and be waiting to pick you off before you even see her. No. It won't work."

"And what are we supposed to find in her room that will change any of that scenario?" House snapped.

Cuddy took his arm. "Come on House, we're not going to get anything more out of her, and we're wasting time."

House glared at Renata, then put the gun in his pocket and followed Cuddy out the door, making sure to 'accidentally' smack the woman one more time with his curtain rod cane.


	10. Cora's Room

**CORA'S ROOM**

House turned and headed toward the attic.

"Where are you going?" Cuddy pulled him the other way.

"I'm going to rescue my friend." House said indignantly.

"You heard her House. Cora will here us coming. We have to be smart about this." Cuddy dug her heels in and started dragging House toward the staircase. "You're going to get us all killed."

"You believe what that woman said?"

"You don't?" Cuddy hadn't thought of that option.

The trouble was, House did believe her. Wilson was above them, suffering god knows what nightmare, and there was not a single thing House could do about it. Instead of charging up to the attic to rescue his friend, he was headed downstairs for a scavenger hunt.

"Come on." Cuddy pulled him onto the staircase, and didn't ease her grip until she felt him start willingly down the stairs.

"What do you think we're going to find Cuddy? Step by step instructions on how to stop voodoo Cora's evil plot, that she's been executing with expert precision for at least fifty years?"

"Exactly." Cuddy's response was dripping with so much sarcasm House nearly slipped on a stair.

Cora's door was locked, which wasn't a surprise, but House was surprised by Cuddy's quick and expert work. "You remember how to do that?"

"Yes." She turned and smiled a playful smile at him. "I don't know why you bother locking your office door." She dropped the nut pick into her pocket, grateful she hadn't lost it, and opened the door.

The room smelled heavily of flowers and incense, and was tinged with red. House pulled a thin red scarf off the lamp and the room snapped into sharp, stark focus. "Nice place."

"It smells like something died in here," Cuddy found it hard to will herself to breath. The air was stale and thick.

"Something probably did." House stepped into the room further. "We should hurry." He was thinking of them as well as Wilson. The smell in the room was overpowering, and if they lingered too long, well, he didn't want to.

They both began to tear through drawers and shelves and under the bed and in the closet. "What I don't get is, why are they both still young?" House was flipping through the pages of a photo album. Though their hairstyles and clothing had changed, Cora and Renata looked exactly the same in every picture, and some were clearly not of this decade.

"I don't know House." Cuddy was checking the now empty dresser for hidden compartments.

"They're not vampires, or there wouldn't be photographs." House pulled out a picture of a beautiful young blonde. He flipped it over and read the name scrawled on the back. "Betty Monroe. Cuddy, come look at this."

Cuddy waded through the mess they'd made in the short time they'd been in the room and took the photo from House.

"It's Betty Monroe." House informed her.

"Are you sure?"

"That's what it says on the back."

"But this outfit...this picture couldn't have been taken more than a few years ago."

"Exactly!" House wasn't sure what it pointed to, exactly, but he had a bad feeling about it.

"But she just died of old age." Cuddy handed back the photo, which House then shoved in his pocket.

"I know." He replied.

"So whatever Cora is doing to her victims, it is prematurely aging them?" Cuddy was starting to see where he was headed.

"And keeping her and Renata young." House mused. "Unless..."

"It's too different processes." Cuddy felt it all coming together. "She's doing her little trick with the books..."

"AND she's stealing their youth while she's at it." House finished the thought. "She's good."

"House! She's EVIL."

"Yeah, but she's good at it." House shrugged, then frowned. They still hadn't found it, whatever it was.

"There has to be something here!" Cuddy flipped through the pages of another book.

"Why? Just because you want there to be?" House snapped, losing his patience.

"Yes! Because if we don't find something, Wilson's going to die of old age before he collects social security."

A sly smile crossed House's face as he held a dusty old book in her direction. Just because he's House, he blew the dust in her direction.

She began to cough and speak. "What the...what is it?"

"I do believe it's the answer to you were looking for."


	11. The Nightmare Continues

**THE NIGHTMARE CONTINUES**

Cora watched as Wilson's hands raced furiously over the typewriter. His eyes were closed, and he thrashed wildly from the horrors playing out behind his lids, but his hands remained perched over the old machine, and his fingers flew from letter to letter.

Wilson was screaming inside his own tormented mind. He didn't expect anyone to hear him, but he had to scream.

Cora got up and walked over to the desk. She looked down at the small stack of papers beside the typewriter. The sound of the typewriter keys banging away was like music to her ears.

She gently brushed a lock of grey hair off Wilson's forehead. She knew he wouldn't notice, he was lost in his own nightmares, but she did it just the same. She always did her best to make her writers comfortable, physically.

Wilson was too busy staring into the abyss of his own mind to notice any outside activity.

Wilson felt the forest closing in on him. He ran, following the sound of his brother's voice, but as fast as he ran, the beast that was following ran faster. Wilson felt his heart might explode. He'd never run so fast in his life. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears, making a whooshing sound that drowned out his own footfalls. Still, he could hear the snarling beast behind him, the hungry grunts getting closer and closer, and he could hear his brother's voice, urging him forward, to safety.

Wilson breathed heavy with relief as he threw his back against the door, slamming it shut to the monster. His long lost brother was close by, he could feel him, somewhere in the castle.

The door shuddered against him, as the beast banged its massive body into the hard planks of wood. Again and again. Wilson feared the door would not hold, but he had to find his brother.

He darted up the stairs, grabbing a weapon as he went, a long, metal rod he assumed must have fallen from somewhere. He didn't stop to dwell on it as he heard the wooden door splinter. He didn't have much time.

"James, James," his brother's voice pleaded.

Wilson froze for a moment. He was in a strange room, back in the room with three doors. He needed to find his brother. It was an urgent need that he didn't have time to rationalize. He knew there was danger, and he knew he had to rescue someone…

His mind became muddled. Was he rescuing his brother? Or was it Julie, his wife. He had to save Julie from his brother. No, that wasn't right. He heard what, at first, sounded like a baby crying, but it was a woman. It was his wife. He needed to save his marriage, from House.

Cora glared over his shoulder. "Worthless!" She complained to the unlistening Wilson. "You've left me no choice." She began to whisper something into his ear.

Wilson watched as the doors vanished. He was still in a room, still in a dark and foreboding castle, but things had changed. He could feel a chill run down his spine as he listened to something howling just outside the door.

A hard scratching sound ran down his spine as the claws of the creature ran down the door.

"That's better," Cora laughed, going back to her knitting and letting Wilson deal with the terror she'd set on him. She hated when her writers veered off track. Luckily she'd learned after the third one, how to get them back on course. A little subliminal suggestion and she would have another best seller.

Wilson ran for the window. It was a far drop to the ground, but as the door began to rattle in its frame, he realized there was no other option.

He pulled at the window, trying with all his might to open it, if only a crack. The door let out a deafening crack. Time was up.

Wilson picked up the weapon he'd been carrying and hurled it with all his strength through the window. Glass shattered all around him; cuts appeared across his face and arms, bits of clothing torn from the shards that flew at him.

He ignored the pain. He ignored the little voice in the back of his head saying he'd never survive a fall like that. With one final breath, trying to pull together all the courage he had, mild mannered, good guy James Wilson hurled himself out the castle window to certain death.


	12. The Rescuers

**THE RESCUERS**

"House!" Cuddy followed House as he darted out the door and bounded up the stairs. "House! What did you find?" She tried flipping through the pages of the book he'd tossed at her on his way out the door, but nearly tripped over a step and decided to give it up.

House sprung up the stairs, ignoring the shooting pains rushing through his leg. There was no time for pain. He'd found what he thought was the answer, and he wasn't going to dick around with Vicodin or limping or any of that nonsense. He filled Cuddy in breathlessly on the way up.

"That's insane." Cuddy joined House for a breather at the top of the stairs.

"And Wilson being trapped in his own nightmare which some crazy witch is going to turn into a bestselling novel is somehow not insane?"

"No. That's insane too, but this is more insane."

"Didn't you once tell me it was insane to try and stop an insane person?"

"Yes." She sighed heavily. "But really, House, there's got to be another way. Can't we just...wake him up?"

"We can try, but I'll bet you 5 clinic hours that it won't work."

"You'll work five extra clinic hours if I win?" She sounded doubtful.

"You're not going to win, so, sure, I'll give you anything you want." House shoved the gun in her hand. "You know how to use it?"

"Yes, I know how to use it," she snotted.

"Good. Let's go." He felt her put on hand on his shoulder as he deftly picked the lock.

They stood quietly for a moment, staring at the door, then House pulled it open. The door creaked painfully. House hoped that Cora was too distracted to notice the telltale noise.

Unfortunately, she wasn't. A shot fired down on them and lodged a bullet into the wall between their heads. House glared at Cuddy who was not firing back.

"Shoot back," he whispered frantically, motioning with his hands.

"Shhhh." Cuddy pressed herself up against one wall and edged her way up. She motioned for House to make his way carefully up the stairs, making some strange hand gestures that took him a minute to decifer. Finally he nodded, understanding what she was trying to do, and pulled out his flashlight.

Slowly, step by step, waving the flashlight frantically in front of him, House made his way up the stairs. Cuddy kept her eyes on the opening, waiting for Cora to pop her head out for another shot.

Cora cursed as the small pinpoint of light blinded her. She fired randomly toward it. She would have fired again, but a bullet quickly lodged itself into her shoulder, sending her back into the darkness.

"Nice shot!" House grinned at Cuddy, flashing the small light in her face.

"Put that thing away!" She slapped his hand down and hurried up the stairs. "I think I only grazed her."

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that," House said, hurrying up the stairs behind her, the flashlight on again so he could catch the show as her skirt swished from side to side.

"I dated a cop once. He took me to a shooting range on one of our dates." She tried to ignore the fact that he was staring at her ass.

"I didn't realize you were into that sort of thing." House joked.

"I'm not." Cuddy hurried over to where Cora was writhing in pain. "I just missed her heart," Cuddy's voice sounded remorseful.

"That's assuming she has one." House felt a lot less remorseful as he rushed to Wilson's side. "I'm going to try your brilliant idea," House informed her loudly, then began to shake Wilson's shoulders. "Wake up Wilson," he singsonged in Wilson's ear. "It's not working." House then slapped Wilson across the face a bit more gleefully than he should have. "Nope, nothing. So, one hour a day for five days?" House realized he should have asked for more.

"Let's just concentrate on waking him up first," Cuddy was growing annoyed. She found something to dress Cora's wound, but first found some rope to tie her patient up. She wasn't taking chances.

House stared at Wilson, watching his fingers fly across the typewriter keys. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"I thought you knew." Cuddy panicked.

Cora's high pitched laughter was stifled by a rag shoved into her mouth suddenly by a now very annoyed Cuddy.

"I just know I have to go in after him." House poked Wilson with his finger. "I didn't see step by step instructions on how to invade his dreams."

Cuddy looked down at Cora.

"She'll just lie." House voiced what she was thinking.

Cuddy got up and walked to the desk. She began to fumble through Wilson's book. "Oh my God!" She handed the pages to House. "Did you look at these?"

"No!" House threw the pages on the floor. He was not interested.

"You have to get in there fast." Cuddy looked down at the piece of paper still in the typewriter. "HOUSE! FAST!" She pointed at the page. Wilson had just broken through a window and was about to jump.

House grabbed the typewriter. They both looked anxiously, expecting Wilson to snap out of his daze and thank them for their heroic rescue. Instead he began to recite his nightmare, the terror in his voice ripped through his two, helpless friends far worse than the sound of the pounding keys.

Cuddy shoved the typewriter back at Wilson, unable to stand the sound of Wilson's terrified voice.

House stormed over to Cora. He pulled the rag out of her mouth and jammed his curtain rod cane into her wound. Cuddy looked away quickly, wincing as Cora screamed. "How do I stop him?"

Cora laughed through an anguished cry as House pressed down harder against her fresh wound. "Go ahead and kill me," Cora snarled.

"Who said anything about killing?" House grinned maniacally and jabbed her shoulder hard. Fresh blood began to cover the bandage Cuddy had fashioned out of some old clothes found in a trunk.

"AAAARRRHH!" Cora's cry rang through the house.

"Stop!"

At first House thought it was Cuddy screaming, but when he turned toward the sound, he was facing the door, and Renata Rowling.


	13. The End of the House at Gravesend

**THE END OF THE HOUSE AT GRAVESEND**

"Why the hell should I?" House jabbed the rod into his victim. As long as Wilson was trapped in his own nightmares, facing a short life of prematurely aging his way to death, then House saw no reason not to torture the woman who had caused it to happen.

"Because, I can help bring him back." Renata took a hesitant step deeper into the room. Her eyes darted nervously between House and his rod, which he was now holding threateningly in his two hands, and Cuddy, pointing the small revolver at her anxiously.

"Why the hell should I listen to anything you have to say?" House was banging his cane against the palm of his hand menacingly. He wanted to step toward her, but the limp would have diminished his image as someone to be feared.

"House, hear her out!" Cuddy came over and put a hand on his arm, just in case. Like Renata, she thought he was about to charge.

"You have to get in his mind, redirect his dream." Renata said, looked into Cora's rage filled eyes for a moment before turning her back on the woman forever. "Just…whisper in his ear." It sounded so wrong, and she knew they wouldn't believe her, but she hoped they would at least give it a try.

_Wilson felt himself freefalling, down and down through the air for what seemed an eternity. As in dreams, reality was warped and he continued to fall long after he should have reached the ground. _

House leaned toward his friend, his lips getting close to Wilson's ear. He looked over at Cuddy. She, in turn, looked at the page in the typewriter. "He's falling to his death House, hurry up."

"And what?" House shot back.

"And save him!" She glared at him. It was enough to send his mind racing for an answer. He leaned in closer and began to whisper quietly to his best friend.

_Wilson heard a voice and tried to twist around in mid air. House was sailing down beside him, his arms folded casually behind his head. "What the hell are you doing here House?" _

"_Saving your sorry ass," House grinned, then grabbed Wilson by one hand. "It's time to get you out of this nightmare." _

Cuddy screamed as House fell to the ground. "What have you done?" She turned the gun on Renata.

"I…." Renata stared down at the man, fear in her eyes.

Cora's shrill laughter rang through the room. "He touched him, you idiot! He's been drawn into the nightmare." A pleased smile crossed the insane woman's face.

"You never told me…" Renata tripped over her words.

"You think I told you everything?" Cora's smile tore through Cuddy's sole. She would never know what she might have done, had Renata not grabbed the gun out of her hand and poured three well placed bullets into the woman.

Renata dropped the gun and stared at the limp body of her former maid. "Is she…"

"Dead," Cuddy confirmed, checking Cora's absent vitals.

_House felt the ground beneath him. He had the vague notion that he had to do something, but that notion was slipping away from him. _

"_Why are you here House?" Wilson pulled himself up off the ground and looked around. _

"_I…" even if House had an answer, he wouldn't have been able to get it out. "RUN!" He grabbed Wilson's hand and took off. The excitement of being able to run at full speed, without the aide of drugs or a cane was lost in the fear of being eaten alive by a giant, fire breathing dragon._

The two women stood silently, staring at each other for a moment. The only sound in the room was the sound of Wilson's furious typing on the ancient typewriter. Cuddy was the first to move. She went instinctively to House's side.

"There's nothing you can do for him," Renata spoke softly.

"The hell there isn't!" Cuddy leaned into House's ear and began to whisper into it. "House? I really hope you can hear me."

_House heard a familiar, comforting voice. "Do you hear that?" He looked over at Wilson._

"_The sound of death rapidly approaching? Yeah, I hear it." Wilson was wheezing heavily, but his legs still propelled him forward. _

"_No." House stopped in the middle of the path, trying to hear the soft voice in his ear. _

"_House!" Wilson tried to pull him forward, but as he suspected, a fully functional House was much stronger than he. "At least hide!" Wilson pulled House into a bush and began trying to cover them with twigs and leaves. _

"_House," the voice said softly, "you're in a dream, a nightmare…Wilson's nightmare. I can't wake him. You'll have to find a way out of it. Just don't forget that you are in a dream. Whatever you do. Don't forget that." _

Cuddy pulled away, brushing her lips gently across House's cheek, a tear rolling down her own slowly. She didn't even try to will it back. She was worried. "Do you think it'll work?"

"It's our only chance." Renata looked like she wanted to say more, but she fell silent, looking down at the floor.

She wanted to apologize so badly, but how did one go about apologizing for something like this? She had been, for the first few years at least, a willing participant in Cora's evil plan. She had helped lure young men and women into the house, had looked away as Cora took them up to the room, and never questioned Cora when they disappeared.

She should have stopped it, when she realized what was going on. She should have. Her eyes moved toward the gun, still lying on the floor beside Cora's body. There was only one way to end it.

She lunged quickly for the gun. Cuddy had only seconds to process what was happening, but she acted on instinct, charging at Renata, knocking the woman over. "Not until I have some answers." Cuddy threatened, as she pulled the gun from Renata's shaky hand.

"I told you all I know." Renata fell into a weeping heap.

Cuddy put the gun in her pocket and went back to House's side.

"_It's all a dream," House mumbled to himself._

"_What?" Wilson looked over at him, his eyes large with worry._

"_This is all a dream." House grinned and stepped out of their hiding space. "This is all your fucked up nightmare," he dragged Wilson out of the hole. "Time to face your demons." _

_The dragon came charging at them, fire erupting from his nostrils._

"_House, you're crazy!" Wilson tried pulling away, but House's grip was too strong. _

"_Face it Wilson! Whatever this stupid dragon represents, face it!" House grabbed Wilson and shoved him toward the monster. _

_Wilson stood there, frozen with fear. He was about to be eaten by a dragon. That wasn't supposed to happen. Not in his lifetime. _

"_Oh for Christ's sake!" House shouted exasperatedly. "Do I have to do EVERYTHING?" He focused all his energy on a way out. He should have been more specific, because as he felt the weight in his hand, he realized the dragon, Wilson's dragon, was still there, and all he was armed with was a bloody sword. "Get out of the way!" he yelled at Wilson, as he brought the sword up over his head and swung it with all his might. "And would you please help?"_

_Wilson snapped out of his stupor as he watched his friend being lifted into the air. He grabbed House's dropped sword and yelled at the top of his lungs, charging toward the beast. As the sword sunk deep into the heart of the dragon, Wilson looked into it's eyes. _

_He saw his brother looking back, then all three of his wives, one at a time, then various patients he had lost over the years, friends he'd had, his dog Hector, the girl he'd been dating when he first met House, his family, then back to his brother. _

_The dragon took a deep breath, ready to blow Wilson away in a rain of fire, but the flames never came. They melted away as the truth of House's words hit him. This was all a dream. It's the only think that made sense. His brother, the werewolf, the dragon…none of it was real. _

Wilson stared down at the typewriter. His fingers frozen above the keys, cramped and curled like knarled claws. He blinked realization into his mind. "House!"

"Shhh." Cuddy came over and put her arm around his shoulder, leading him away from the typewriter that had been his prison. "House will be fine." She hoped that was the truth.

House was already sitting up, Renata trying to give him some water. "I don't want anything from you!" He shoved the glass away from her.

"House! She helped save Wilson," Cuddy reminded him. "She's not likely to poison us all now."

House glared at the dark eyed woman. "You trust her so much, you drink her water." He began to pull himself off the floor. Renata was smart enough not to try and help him, despite her instinct to do so.

Cuddy managed to come over and give him the last pull he needed to rise to his feet. He noted that she didn't let go once he was standing, nor did he try to make her. "How's Wilson?" House turned his head and looked at his friend.

Wilson's hair was grey at the temples, his eyes glazed and bloodshot. He looked pale and weak, but he was breathing, and focusing his eyes in their direction. "What the hell happened?"

"This bitch…" House pointed around the room. The object of his venom was not there. "Where the hell did she go?" He lunged toward the stairs. Cuddy pulled him back.

"House. Just let it go." Cuddy was tired; she just wanted to go home.

"But…"

"Trust me." She looked at him pleadingly. "She won't be a problem much longer."

As they pulled away, House looked back at the old house. It was the last time anyone would lay eyes on the house at Gravesend. Not long after their car pulled onto the main road, the house erupted in a blazing fire.

The next morning, as the fire department doused the last embers with water, they discovered three bodies in the rubble. They never did identify the woman who started the blaze, but it was clear she had murdered Renata Rollins and her faithful servant Cora DeRossi before taking her own life. Death by arson.

House put down the paper and looked at Wilson, lying in the uncomfortable hospital bed. "They got it all wrong."

"Not the last bit." The old man in the bed spoke with Wilson's voice.

"You really didn't age well." House wrinkled his nose and leaned in, counting his friends wrinkles.

"House, I aged in a day. How well can anyone do that?" Wilson wheezed a cough.

Cuddy stood against the door frame, glaring at the pair of them. "I told you to let him rest."

"You tell me lots of things," House turned and looked at her. "What makes you think I'm going to start listening now?"

"I saved your life, House." Cuddy walked into the room, smiling.

"Yeah, well, don't go thinking I owe you or anything." A slow smile spread across his face. "You, however…"

"I'm not letting you out of clinic duty."

"Then you're a liar."

"I was under duress. That bet is null and void."

"Let's defer to the voice of ages." House turned to Wilson.

"I think Cuddy doesn't owe you a thing," Wilson said, smiling.

"Traitor!"

The trio continued to talk and joke, trying to forget that Wilson was now the elder member of their group, trying to forget how close they'd come to loosing him forever, trying to forget the house at Gravesend.


End file.
